


All 'er Nothin'

by AnneNeville



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneNeville/pseuds/AnneNeville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kurt comes home to visit his father, he encounters old friends-and an ex-boyfriend with a creepy obsession. As Blaine plans the "perfect proposal," his incessant pressure forces the Glee Club, graduates, and their parents to reevaluate their relationships and their values. NOT KLAINE FRIENDLY. Kurt/Adam, Mercedes/Mike, Sam/Brittany, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee Date

 

  
_It cain't be "in between"_   
_It cain't be "now and then"_   
_No half and half romance will do!_

* * *

The test results were taking a long time. Too long, Kurt feared. If the results were good, he reasoned, they should have heard already. He did his best to distract himself. He tried to spend time with his friends—those who had supported him through his father's first health crisis, that is. People like Mercedes.

Somehow, however, Blaine was always there, too. He'd already endured two excruciating coffee dates, and now Mercedes and Mike ( _thank goodness for them_ ) were running interference as Kurt compulsively stacked his sugar packets. All the time, Kurt kept a smile plastered on his face, hoping it didn't look too fake. Whenever he looked up into Blaine's pleading eyes, he saw a black hole. After a few months with Adam, Kurt understood what lay behind that expression: neediness; desperation; self-love. And it made him nervous.

He didn't think he could take anymore of that look. Although Kurt knew he was being manipulated, he still felt his gut wrench. It was hard to eat, and he didn't know whether his loss of appetite was fear for his father, or an ever-growing anxiety about Blaine. Blaine and his obsession, his insistence that they were together, his uncanny knack for showing up on the Hudson-Hummel doorstep or at the Lima Bean whenever Kurt was there.

At least he hadn't been serenaded yet. Kurt could only assume that somewhere, deep down, Blaine had a scrap of decency. But that was debatable. Blaine had cheated. He'd diminished Kurt's talents. He'd overshadowed him at every turn, even when he didn't have to. He'd cut Kurt down to size—and now, Kurt was beginning to wonder whether Blaine had been sabotaging him on purpose.

It's hard to let go when you're always number two—when you're always hearing that  _this is the best you'll ever do_.

Even now, as they sat at the Lima Bean, Kurt wondered: What's going on in Blaine's head? What's behind that smile when he says the things he says?

"So, Kurt, I heard that you're  _getting by_  at NYADA," Blaine commented.

"Oh?" He tried to keep his voice neutral.

"Yeah, Rachel said."

"Mmm. Rachel said. I see."

"Don't worry, sweetie." Blaine patted Kurt's hand, then grasped his fingers tightly. Kurt could no longer focus on rearranging his sugar packets. "Once I get to New York, you'll be fine," Blaine continued, "We'll get you where you deserve to be."

 _Swaying in the background of the Adam's Apples, he means_ , Kurt thought. His hand tensed, and for a moment he felt ashamed. Then, he noticed that Mercedes was giving Blaine the snake eye.

"Excuse me?" she said, her voice carrying just a little more than necessary. "Did I miss something? The part where you got into NYADA? Or the part where Kurt needs  _you_  to be able to sing and dance and wow an audience. I have two words for you: 'Celine Dion.'"

Blaine opened his mouth to protest, but he had no chance to respond.

Mike was smiling at Mercedes. "Remember the look on Mr. Schue's face when he saw Kurt's medley on YouTube?" he said. "I never understood why he wouldn't give Kurt a solo in competition, especially after that . . ."

Blaine's grip on Kurt's hand tightened. He didn't like it when the New Directions members talked about things that happened before his time. But he also couldn't let Mercedes's comment pass.

"Yeah, Kurt has always tried to excel in everything  _French_  . . ." he threw in, giving Kurt a significant look. "He just needs more practice."

Kurt squirmed, the other graduates gaped, and then they all pretended they hadn't understood Blaine's implication. Mercedes cleared her throat.

"Well," she said, "we've already hashed this out—and Mike, don't you  _dare_  make some hack hash-brown joke at me—Schue is no Sue. He always takes the safe road."

Kurt and Mike exchanged glances. There was a hard edge to her voice. Both young men knew that Mercedes was remembering all the solos she missed out on, as well as the  _West Side Story_  debacle. Suddenly—and irrationally, Kurt told himself—angry, he pulled his hand out of Blaine's clammy grasp.

Mike looked like he was going to respond to Mercedes's imprecation about Mr. Schuester, but he never had the chance.

"Not this year," Blaine blurted out. "He's not taking the safe road this year."

Everyone at the table turned to look at him.

"Oh? Pray tell, Blaine." Mercedes's voice was soft.

"No, no, let me guess," Mike interjected with a grin. "Tina and Artie are doing a duet?"

"No." Blaine made the idea sound like the height of lunacy.

"Ah. Then you mean that Joe's finally going to perform 'Jolene' on a guitar while Jake, Sugar, and Brittany do an interpretive dance?"

"No, of course not! That would be—"

"Different?" Mercedes raised an eyebrow.

" _Weird_  and  _stupid_  and—and—and I haven't even  _seen_  Joe or Sugar for weeks. Or . . . well, Brittany for that matter." Blaine's forehead wrinkled. He hadn't noticed they were gone until Mike mentioned them.

Kurt began arranging his sugar packets in a different formation. A half-moon. Was it waxing, or waning?

"Perhaps you should be out looking for them," Kurt suggested.

"No, honey, you know I've gotta to be here for you."

As far as Kurt could tell, Blaine was at the Lima Bean for Blaine, not for him. He felt a foot brush against his calf and hoped it was Mike accidentally jiggling his leg again.

"So," Kurt pressed on, "What's the daring plan, Blaine? A Ryder-Jake duet with Unique throwing in a few power notes at the end?"

"Um . . ."

"I'll take that as a yes," Mercedes snorted. "Way to use last year's Nationals MVP."

Kurt looked up. Why could there be a boy-boy duet now, and not when  _he_  was in New Directions? Well, that was one Regionals number accounted for . . .

Mike looked thoughtful. "Marley has a sweet voice. Is she getting the traditional Rachel-solo?"

" _No._ " For a moment, Blaine sounded like he was scoffing, but he modulated his voice and continued. "I'm singing  _with_ her—another duet. That's definitely breaking the mould."

Kurt felt a bit sick to his stomach. "I'm surprised they didn't just give it to you, Blaine."

When Kurt's ex didn't respond, the three graduates turned to stare at him.

"Oh  _hell_  to the no!" Mercedes finally said. "Mr. Schue  _did_  just give it to you, didn't he?"

Blaine nodded.

Kurt noticed his coffee was going cold, so he started to empty the sugar packets into the cup one at a time. Why had he agreed to come to the Lima Bean? He hated the place—especially after having worked there over the summer. Plus, it reminded him of Sebastian. It made him feel trapped.

"Kurt."

He looked up at Blaine.

"That's enough sugar, don't you think? You know how you get . . ."

"Yes, Blaine, I  _know_  how I get." He tried to put a hard edge into his voice. "Blaine, how did Marley get that duet?"

"Well, you know, I didn't think it was fair for me to be singing all the numbers, so . . ."

"So . . . "

"So—" Mercedes butted in, "—you went to Mr. Schue and convinced him to put Marley in."

"Yeah, well, you know, Glee Club is all about equal representation."

"Everyone," Kurt murmured, "Should have their chance to shine."

Blaine nodded enthusiastically.

Mike looked thoughtful. "So, that leaves the group number. You're singing lead?"

"No." Blaine beamed. "Sam and I decided to split it."

"Oh sweet merciful Lord, the boys are taking over.  _Again_." Mercedes threw down her plastic fork. "Mike—finish this cheesecake, I've lost my appetite."

Kurt looked at the sugar crystals dissolving in his cup and realized that he'd lost his, too. All he'd wanted was to wait out these interminable hours with his friends—with the people who made him feel safe. Instead, he was sitting with his ex-boyfriend.

Who cheated on him.

Who took every opportunity to outshine him.

Who thought that he was floundering at NYADA without him. No, who  _hoped_  he was floundering at NYADA without him.

Who was so  _sure_  he'd pass muster with Carmen Tibideaux, despite her sadistic and inconsistent audition tactics.

Who had no qualms about hogging the spotlight while Kurt was around, but was suddenly willing to pass the torch now that his beloved boyfriend was far, far away.

 _Maybe_ , Kurt realized,  _Blaine always knew I was better than him_.  _Maybe_ that _is why he allowed all that to happen. Maybe that's why he keeps . . . pushing me down_.

With that thought, Kurt felt something change inside. What was it? Rage? A sense of betrayal? Or—could it be?—a strange sense of pride that came with realizing that Blaine  _knew_  Kurt was a brighter star than he could ever be?

A phone rang. Kurt emerged from his reverie to see Blaine whispering into his cell. When he hung up, a huge smile lit his face.

"Good news, Kurt."

"Oh? Did you get another solo?"

Mercedes didn't quite manage to stifle her snicker.

"Your dad's fine. He's home from the hospital. He's got the all clear."

" _What?_ " Kurt clenched his fist in his lap.

"I said," Blaine repeated, the same smile on his face, "That Burt is fine, at home, he's got the all-clear."

"Blaine. I was supposed to pick Dad and Carole up from the hospital.  _I_  was supposed to."

Blaine shrugged. "Sam picked them up so we could have some time alone together." He gave Mercedes and Mike a less than friendly glance. "Come on. I'll drive you home."

"No."

"Kurt, don't be unreasonable."

"No. You're not driving me home."

Blaine put on his most patient voice. "Kurt, darling, this is what I'm here for—to take care of you when you need a shoulder to cry on."

Kurt noticed he was clutching his cold coffee so tightly that the cardboard was starting to buckle. Taking a deep breath, he began to swallow down the drink. It was too sweet—too saccharine—too  _Blaine_. But he was  _going_  to finish it anyway.

"Kurt, I told you you shouldn't drink that!" Blaine reached out his hand as if to take the cup away. "It's bad for you."

"Yeah, Blaine, we all do things that are bad for us." Kurt polished off the drink and crumpled his cup. "And then, we realize that we've been hurting ourselves, and we keep  _on_  doing it. And then, the day comes when we see what lies ahead—and it's ugly. Really ugly. And we don't do it anymore."

Kurt rose and threw his trash into the nearest receptacle. When he returned to their table, he turned to Mercedes:

"Mercedes, would you take me home, please. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be with my father and my mother and my brother. And my  _friends._ "

Mercedes nodded and reached for her keys.

"And," Kurt added as she slid out of the booth, "I'm never coming to this place again. It makes me sick."

Mike and Blaine watched as the two friends walked out the door. After a few moments, Mike exhaled.

"Wow. That was—something else."

"Yeah," Blaine agreed. "I can't believe that happened."

"I've never seen such a train wreck in my life. Not even when Tina got in the middle of me and my parents and forged my application to Joffrey."

"That worked out well in the end."

Mike grunted. A non-committal sound.

"But—but—how was I to know?"

"Know what, Blaine?"

"That Kurt would be so . . . unreasonable? I mean, I  _know_  how he is, we've been dating for two years."

"You're not dating." A look of confusion passed over Mike's face. "Or—did I miss something?"

"Yeah, we're back together now—sorta—since the wedding."

Mike wrinkled his brow. "Oh. Funny."

"Why is it funny?"

"I just—well, I thought he was dating some guy in New York. I've seen the pictures on Facebook."

Blaine sat up a little straighter, surprise on his face.

"You didn't know?" Mike asked.

"Well, um . . . he did unfriend me. After we broke up. But those pictures must be old."

"The last one was posted just before Kurt flew here—"

"They're in the same Glee club."

"They must be very friendly in that Glee club, then." Mike lifted an eyebrow. "Look, Blaine, are you sure you're not misinterpreting things?"

"Kurt knows we're back together—he's known since the wedding—we talked about it . . .  _afterwards_. You don't just have an . . .  _experience_  . . . like that one and throw it away like it meant nothing."

Mike blushed. This was far more information than he wanted. However, he could see that Blaine was in distress. Those hazel eyes were staring up into his, wide-eyed and moist with tears. The expression was pleading. It reminded Mike uncomfortably of the day he and Tina had broken up—and of that other time, when he'd come back to help out with _West Side Story_ and discovered that his ex was not yet ready to be friends.

It also felt faintly seductive. But that wasn't possible. Blaine was, after all, in love with  _Kurt_. He must be imagining things. And he couldn't help feeling bad for Blaine, even though the boy had been irritating as hell through his entire senior year. A year at Joffrey had taught Mike a lot about the business, and he knew that Blaine's star wouldn't climb much higher—if as high—than Bryan Ryan's. Kurt was all he had.

Mike's focus came back to Blaine, who was still talking.

" . . . he's all I have, you see, and I know I messed up, but I was all alone and he was off in New York living his dream and—and—and I'm just afraid that if he gets too far out there, he'll never come back."

"But," Mike paused, "I thought you said you were together?"

Blaine's jaw firmed. "We are. Now and forever."

Mike sighed. It was time for some hard truth-telling, and frankly, he didn't feel up to it. But Mercedes was gone, so he couldn't lean on her—not like he'd gotten used to over the past seven months.

"Blaine," Mike said softly. "You're wrong. Kurt's moved on. He has a boyfriend. He has a boyfriend that he's falling in love with. In New York. And even if you go there, that isn't going to change."

"You don't know anything." Blaine pushed the empty tray farther away from him, nearly knocking Mercedes's abandoned cheesecake onto the floor. "You're in  _Chicago_."

"And I'm dating Mercedes. Mercedes Jones. Kurt's best friend. I know what I'm talking about."

Blaine crossed his arms.

"You can't bounce back from cheating."

"I forgave Kurt."

Chandler again! Mike wanted to throw his hands in the air, but he refrained from doing so. "Not everything can be forgiven. Or forgotten. Cheating especially."

" _Everyone_  cheats _._ "

"Not me and Tina. Not me and Mercedes." Mike was appalled—how could his classmates have turned so cynical—so certain that the whole world was twisted and dishonest? Perhaps Sue Sylvester had been right—their little club was a bit too "incestuous" for its own good. It wasn't healthy.  _But at least Kurt has moved on._

"Kurt has moved on," he said aloud.

Blaine shook his head slowly.

"Kurt and Adam post pictures together every week. They post pictures from each other's  _bedrooms_."

The color drained from Blaine's face.

"I—I—I can't . . . believe it."

"Well, just take a deep breath—"

Blaine pounded a fist on the table, making the plastic utensils jump. "I can't believe he's  _cheating_ on me _. Again_."

"Calm down, Blaine—"

Blaine stood and straightened his bowtie. "I  _am_  calm." Methodically, he placed all the trash from their coffee gathering on the tray, stopping only to ask if Mike was done with his tea. He threw all the garbage away and wiped the table with a fresh napkin. As he shook the crumbs onto the floor, he turned to Mike again.

"See, I'm calm. Now Kurt and I are equal. He cheated on me. I cheated on him—but that was an accident.  _He_  did it on purpose. And  _repeatedly._  And so now he has to accept my apology. All I have to do is show him just how much I care."

Blaine crumpled the napkin in his hand and headed for the door.

"Thanks for your help, Mike," he threw over his shoulder. "I know exactly what to do now."

Mike waited for Blaine to drive off before he left the coffee shop. He had a sinking feeling that he'd made things worse. So much for being the wise one on healthy relationships.

But . . . perhaps no amount of sage advice on stable relationships worked . . . if one of the people in the relationship wasn't actually stable.

Mike reached for his cell and hit number two on his speed-dial.

"Mercedes? Are you alone? We need to talk. Now."


	2. At Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For several hours after Mercedes dropped him off, Kurt was jumpy. He kept expecting Blaine to decide to "check on Burt" and hang around the house. Somehow, whenever Kurt wanted to be alone with his father, Blaine turned up. It would be better now, of course. Kurt had some time off school and Blaine still had classes. Now, Kurt was home with his father and Carole and, of course, Sam.
> 
> Kurt didn't quite trust Sam anymore. He was too chummy with Blaine and kept asking questions about New York and how Kurt spent his free time. He also went on and on about what a great 'mate' Blaine was, and how lucky he was to have such a friend, and how complimented he'd been to find out that Blaine found him attractive. That had thrown Kurt for a loop. Blaine had never really expressed much enthusiasm for Kurt's body.
> 
> Apparently, Sam was more his type. And Sam—tolerant Sam, who had been so friendly to Kurt when they first met, now seemed obsessed with what a 'bro' and great 'guy' Blaine was. Maybe Sam wasn't quite as straight as everyone believed . . . maybe he just preferred a boy like Blaine.

  
_Would you build me a house_ _  
_ _All painted white_ _  
_ _Cute and clean and purty and bright_?

For several hours after Mercedes dropped him off, Kurt was jumpy. He kept expecting Blaine to decide to "check on Burt" and hang around the house. Somehow, whenever Kurt wanted to be alone with his father, Blaine turned up. It would be better now, of course. Kurt had some time off school and Blaine still had classes. Now, Kurt was home with his father and Carole and, of course, Sam.

Kurt didn't quite trust Sam anymore. He was too chummy with Blaine and kept asking questions about New York and how Kurt spent his free time. He also went on and on about what a great 'mate' Blaine was, and how lucky he was to have such a friend, and how complimented he'd been to find out that Blaine found him attractive.  _That_  had thrown Kurt for a loop. Blaine had never really expressed much enthusiasm for Kurt's body.

Apparently, Sam was more his type. And Sam— _tolerant_  Sam, who had been so friendly to Kurt when they first met, now seemed obsessed with what a 'bro' and great 'guy' Blaine was. Maybe Sam wasn't quite as straight as everyone believed . . . maybe he just preferred a boy like Blaine.

Kurt felt lucky to have Adam. That blunted the pain a bit. Just a bit.

Whatever was going on, Sam's presence in the Hummel-Hudson household made things strained. Carole couldn't turn away Blaine's best friend—not after welcoming him with open arms all year. Sam wouldn't stop talking about Blaine and all their adventures together. And Finn . . . well, Finn wasn't around much. He was too busy trying to climb out of the hole he'd dug for himself at the University of Lima.

According to Sam, Kurt's step-brother had nearly busted out of college in the first few weeks due to heavy drinking and irresponsible partying. Also according to Sam,  _Blaine_  had talked Finn back from the edge.

 _Funny, that_ , Kurt thought.  _Finn and Puck both claim it was_ Puck _who knocked some sense into my brother_.  _Literally._

Kurt realized he was wringing his hands, took a deep breath, and placed them nonchalantly on his knees. He willed himself to relax. His father was sleeping, but when he woke up, Kurt wanted to look calm and happy. He didn't want the stress to show on his countenance or in his eyes. He schooled his face into a neutral expression. Then, he tried for a slight, hopeful smile.  _Perhaps this is the moment to practice my sense-memory skills_.

But no happy thoughts came—except that his father was—for the time being—in the clear. And beholden to Blaine for all those months of "caretaking." Kurt wasn't sure what that "caretaking" had entailed, but apparently the Hummels were endlessly grateful—or they should be.

 _It's a good thing dementors aren't real_ , Kurt mused,  _because if one showed up right now, I would be doomed_.

Kurt jumped as his phone buzzed on the bedside table. Grabbing it before the vibrations disturbed his dad, Kurt silenced the phone. Then, he checked his text messages.

 _Mercedes_. What did she have to say so soon after their coffee date?

He opened the message:

"blaine up 2 smth. b prepared. mike followed blaine to jwlry store. xpect big scene."

Before Kurt could fully process the message, a second came through—this one from Mike.

"Advise you to tell Burt and Carole the truth about the breakup. Better that way. Brace yourself for anything."

Once again wringing his hands, Kurt sat beside his father and waited. After Burt woke up and they exchanged hugs and I love yous, Kurt called in his step-mother and locked the door behind them.

"Dad . . . Carole . . ." Kurt started, bracing himself, "there's something we have to talk about."

Carole took one look into her son's eyes and sank into the nearest chair. She and Burt reached for each other's hands—and automatically, unthinkingly, they found each other. It was such a simple gesture—holding hands—and yet when you held hands with someone you truly loved, it could change everything in the world.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me?" Burt was still too hazy from the anesthetic to muster up much anger, but he had understood Kurt's story completely. "Why . . . Kurt . . . why didn't you tell me?"

"I—don't really know."

A tear rolled down Carole's cheek.

"Why didn't Finn say anything?" she whispered.

Kurt shrugged. He'd always hoped he'd become close to his stepbrother, but somehow it had never happened. Finn never stepped up to the plate when Kurt was in trouble, and as much as Kurt loved his brother (and believed his brother loved him), he had finally accepted that he couldn't expect much help from that corner.

Carole was still waiting for an answer, so Kurt offered the best justification he could: "I suppose he didn't think it was his business to tell."

"If we'd known—" Carole started.

"If I'd known—" Burt said at the same time.

Carole inclined her head towards her husband.

"If I'd known," he continued, "I would never have let Blaine talk me into bringing him to New York."

"He said—" Carole swallowed. "He said that you wanted him to spend as much time as possible here since you couldn't be in Lima."

"Why didn't you tell me, Kurt?" This time, Kurt could see the pain in his father's eyes.

"Because—every time I called to try, he was here, hanging out with Sam, or taking you to the doctor's while Carole was at work, or—or—or I don't know  _what_  he was doing, but he was  _here_  and he'd ask to talk to me on the  _phone_  and no matter how I tried to tell him, he wouldn't back off."

The room fell silent.

"Is that all?"

"No."

"What, then?" Burt demanded.

"I—I—" Kurt choked, "I thought that maybe—you liked him, and Sam, and Finn, better as sons."

Carole gasped and Burt shook his head mutely. Once he'd caught his breath and gotten his heart rate back to normal, he spoke:

"You, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, are my one and only son, and I thought you knew that you came first— _always._  I'm sorry, Carole, but you know it's true, and I know it's the same with Finn for you. If you had told me . . . "

Burt's jaw tensed and Carole covered his hand with hers again.

"Blaine Anderson is no longer welcome in our house," she said.

"And . . . that's . . . final," Burt murmured. His eyes closed.

"Dad—" Kurt jumped up.

Carole shushed him and told him it was just the after-effects of the medication. "We should let your father rest now."

"The medicine . . ." Kurt echoed. "Will he remember—will he remember what we talked about?"

Carole adjusted the blankets over her husband's sleeping form. "I think you can rest assured, Kurt," she said, meeting her stepson's eyes, "that this is one conversation that your father will  _never_  forget.

"And neither will I," she added forcefully.

Kurt sank down in his chair, ready to begin his vigil all over again.

"Don't you want a break, sweetie?" Carole asked.

"No," he said, a little too quick. "No, thank you. I'd—rather stay here. I'd rather not hear any more about Blaine or the New Directions or NYADA or any of that."

"Sam talks too much."

"Sometimes," Kurt said. "But back in the beginning—before Blaine, you know—he was one of the best of the bunch. He accepted me as I am."

"Like Adam?"

"Like Adam."

Kurt felt Carole move behind him. She tentatively touched his hair, then changed her mind and squeezed his shoulder. Kurt looked up at her questioningly.

"I—I always used to ruffle Finn's hair . . . when he was upset. But I was afraid you wouldn't like it. You take so much care with it . . ."

Kurt smiled weakly. "I don't mind, Carole. Just this once, behind closed doors."

He felt her tentatively stroke his hair, and memories of his own mom rushed back. Tears sprang to his eyes.

"You know I love you, too, don't you, Kurt?  _Both_  of us love you."

Kurt nodded again, then sniffled. Carole sensed that he wanted to be alone—that her boy didn't want anyone to see him this vulnerable.

"I'll . . . bring you some hot chocolate, OK?"

"OK."

Kurt listened as Carole's footsteps went towards the door. As it opened, he said "Thank you . . ."

Just after it clicked closed, he added ". . . Mom."

* * *

Sam was trying to coax Lady Tubbington out from under his bed when his cell phone chimed. A message. A welcome distraction from the she-devil with claws who still hadn't forgiven him for the whole locker-duffle-bag incident. Sam grabbed the phone off his rickety desk.

He groaned when he saw what the message was about.

 **Blaine** : "Got it."

He'd actually done it. Actually gone out and bought an engagement ring. Laying back on his rumpled bed, Sam prepared for a marathon texting session.

"Wish me luck, Lady Tubs."

The cat hissed yet again. Sam turned his attention back to the cell phone.

 **Sam** : "is it the rite size?"

 **Blaine** : "Shit."

 **Blaine** : "How do you know about sizing rings?"

 **Sam** : "Me n Britt got married, remember."

 **Blaine** : "Oh. Yeah."

 **Sam** : "i got teh wrong size to, so dont worry. U can return it after."

 **Blaine** : "But once I put it on his finger, I want it to stay there forever."

 **Sam** : "thats a little unrelistic, bro."

 **Blaine:**  "What are you implying?!"

 **Sam** : "well, u cant always wear a ring. i take mine off for noodle art bcs of glue n paint."

 **Blaine** : "Oh."

 **Sam** : "so, whats the plan."

 **Blaine** : "I'm going to propose to Kurt."

 **Sam** : "soon?"

 **Blaine** : "ASAP"

 **Sam** : "dude, r u sure thats a good idea."

 **Blaine** : "I can't let him get away. You can't argue this, you and Brittany got married."

 **Sam** : "we thought the world was endng."

 **Sam** : "makes a difrence, right?"

 **Blaine** : "I'm doing this, Sam. Are you in, or are you out?"

 **Sam** : "I dunno, shouldnt we be thinking of reginals?"

 **Blaine** : "I can't think about anything without Kurt."

 **Sam** : " . . . "

 **Blaine** : "I can't think about anything EXCEPT Kurt."

 **Sam** : " . . . "

[Long Pause]

 **Sam** : "isnt it weird how all th show chiors have names that sound like sex stuff? Even the nun-touchables?"

 **Blaine** : " . . . "

 **Sam** : "or is it teh nUnTouchables? rotflmao."

 **Blaine** : "Do you think Kurt would like it if I proposed in my superhero costume."

 **Sam** : "waht?!"

 **Blaine** : "Do you think Kurt would like it if I proposed in my superhero costume? Sorry, forgot the question mark."

 **Sam** : "NO. that idea bites, man. majorly sux. worse than the whosierdaddies name."

 **Blaine** : "Cut it out about Glee Club. I'm thinking about more important things."

 **Sam** : "when artie made u the new rachel i nevr knew youd take it this far."

 **Sam** : "u sure u r ready 4 this?"

 **Blaine** : "I'm sure. I just need the perfect setting and the perfect audience and the perfect song."

 **Sam** : "i think u r going 2 fast on this"

 **Blaine** : "Either help me or butt out."

 **Sam** : " . . . "

 **Blaine** : "?"

 **Sam** : ". . . "

 **Blaine** : "Sam?"

 **Sam** : "yeh?"

 **Blaine** : "Are you going to help me?"

 **Sam** : "its against my beter judgment but ok. no superhero costumes. K wont like that."

 **Blaine** : "How do you know?"

 **Sam** : "u've ben dating him how long and dont know he hates superhros? thats BASIC like knowing Britt likes cats."

 **Blaine** : " . . . "

 **Blaine** : "OK, no superhero costumes."

 **Blaine** : "Should I sing 'Teenage Dream'?"

 **Sam** : "!?what!? maybe u shouldnt sing at all?"

 **Blaine** : "Don't tease me, I'm serious."

 **Sam** : "so was i."

 **Blaine** : "I have to sing. How else can I show him how I really feel?"

 **Sam** : "ok but don't look at me this time."

 **Blaine** : "What are you talking about?"

 **Sam** : " . . . "

[Long pause]

 **Sam** : "never mind"

 **Blaine** : "I've got a bunch of great sheet music, I'll bring it over now. Be there in ten minutes."

 **Sam** : "wait. u cant come here. u r uninvited. carole says."

 **Blaine** : "What? Why not?"

 **Sam** : "i think kurt told them abt eli."

 **Blaine** : "Fuck!"

 **Sam** : "yeah, that's exactly what he told them abt."

 **Blaine** : "Shut up, gotta think."

 **Sam** : "im texting u, im not saying a word. r u sure this proposal is a good idea, i dont think kurt will like it."

 **Blaine** : "It's all about style, I just have to figure out the right words to say and the right song to sing and he'll understand."

 **Sam** : " . . . "

 **Sam** : "ok"

 **Blaine** : " . . . "

 **Sam** : "what abt come what may frm that movie with the dying chick?"

 **Blaine** : "Why would I want to sing that?"

 **Sam** : "kurt said it was ur fantisy wedding song."

 **Blaine** : "Oh. Yeah. But it's a duet. I need to tell Kurt how I really feel."

 **Sam** : "u might want to let kurt get a few words in, pick smthng he knows."

 **Sam** : "dont forget kurt likes brdway better than pop songs."

 **Blaine** : "I don't do Broadway."

 **Sam** : "u did west side story."

 **Blaine** : "That was different, I needed that for my resume."

 **Sam** : "so u dont have sheet music 4 bwy songs at ur place n u cant come here."

 **Blaine** : " . . . "

 **Blaine** : "We need a plan, Kurt's leaving soon."

 **Sam** : "we? its ur proposal."

 **Blaine** : "Sam, you have to help me. I gave you money for food."

 **Sam** : "did u really think the Hummel-Hudsons were starving me?"

 **Blaine** : " . . . "

[Long pause.]

 **Sam** : "never mind."

 **Sam** : "look, dude, i still dont think this is a good idea but ill go to kurts room and look thru his sheet music n stuff. hes out w mercedes now. ill find u the perfect song to expln how u feel n u can set up the rest. ur good at that showmanship stuff."

 **Blaine** : "Cool. You are the best. I know you'll find the right song and Kurt will understand just how I feel about him. Deal?"

 **Sam** : "deal."

* * *

Sam put his cell down with a sigh. He ran his hand through his hair, noting just how overgrown and greasy it was.

This whole thing with Blaine was getting out of control.

When had things gotten so complicated? He was pretty sure that if he'd never joined Glee club his life would be a lot simpler now. He'd still be struggling in school, he'd have fewer friends, but he wouldn't be constantly in the middle of crazy-making drama. First there had been Kurt, who'd seemed so sweet and then just . . . backed away. Then Quinn, and cheating, and Mercedes, and cheating, and—Santana, too—and now he was stuck between Brittany, who he cared for, and Blaine, who cared a little to much for  _him_.

And that was cool. It's not like getting crushed on by a gay guy was bad—though maybe he'd gone off the tracks a bit with Blaine. Somehow, he felt like things weren't right—that he'd become a hypocrite along the way, that somewhere on this fucked up merry-go-round of dating, he'd lost a bit of himself.

And that lost part was beginning to feel like the bit of himself that he'd liked the most. He hadn't forgotten how kind Kurt had been to him when he first came to McKinley. He hadn't been afraid of being labeled gay by association. Then things changed—Finn swooped in, the guys formed a circle around him, he'd started dating a cheerleader, and had far too many heartbreaks too quickly. He'd given into the pressure from Finn and the other guys to pick the right, more  _masculine_  team.

Then, there had been the strip club. The men who hit on him. The assumptions people had made about him. The way that made him feel inside. The dollars shoved into his hands and thong and even, sometimes, his mouth. When Finn and Rachel had 'rescued' him, he'd put on a brave face, but he was glad to get the hell out of that sleazy joint. He  _knew_  what people thought about male strippers. He  _knew_  what clientele they usually had. And he knew the whispers that would circulate about him.

And so he'd hardened himself even more. He'd turned towards his ultra-manly 'bros.' He'd pushed away the equal friendship Kurt offered. Even though they lived in the same house, he'd kept his distance. "Lady Hummel" couldn't be a part of Sam Evans's life—because Sam had regressed. He'd gone from tolerant to terrified.

Terrified of what? Of being thought gay? Of being recognized as bisexual? Of being called a prostitute and slut-shamed because he'd picked the 'easy' way to make money and support his family? Was he afraid that someone would walk up to him in public and shove money in his face?  _Who would do that kind of thing_?

Sam paced from one end of his room to the other—which was tough, since his was a tiny room. Still, moving helped him think. He knew he wasn't the smartest guy around, but he wasn't the stupidest, either. He recognized when he screwed up—and he'd screwed up with Kurt. Now, Blaine was screwing up, too. And he felt . . .

What did he feel? Confused? No. Conflicted? Yes,  _conflicted_. Blaine was his friend, and his friend needed his help. Blaine needed his help to get Kurt. All year, Sam had stood by Blaine. Soothed Blaine. Hung out with Blaine. Plotted with Blaine. Dressed up in silly costumes with Blaine. Sung with Blaine. They'd had fun. Just like he and Brittany had had fun—though without the love and the sex.

Except . . . there was love. Blaine's love. For him, Sam. And Sam  _knew_  it. He was even OK with it, though he would never cheat on anyone _ever_  again. He was determined to be with Britt forever, bogus as their first wedding had been.

But  _Kurt_ —Kurt wouldn't be OK with Blaine being in love with another man. And so to push those two together would be wrong. Wouldn't it?

Sam sat on his bed and opened the drawer in his bedside table. Inside lay the macaroni portrait he'd made of Kurt—Kurt, who should almost be a brother to him, seeing as they'd lived together for so long. Seeing as Kurt, out of all the Glee Club members, had reached out to him first. All this time later, Kurt was still his hero for being friendly, for being strong, for being himself, and for fighting against all odds.

_Against all Odds._

Suddenly, Sam felt hot. He was blushing—and he knew why. No, Sam was not the smartest guy around, but he wasn't stupid. He'd seen the changes that came over Kurt when Blaine was around. One thing Sam knew from watching his parents—and from watching Burt and Carole, who were almost like parents to him—was that good partners bring out the best in each other.

And Blaine was screwing Kurt up. And he was going to keep on doing it.

"If I don't act," Sam told the reflection in his mirror, "This Macaroni Portrait is all that's gonna be left of Kurt Elizabeth Hummel."

Sam stared at himself for a long time—or so it seemed—but no matter how hard he thought, he kept coming back to the same place. Blaine's proposal couldn't be derailed. Blaine wouldn't allow it. And Blaine was bad for Kurt, while Kurt had been good to Sam.

It was time that  _someone_  did  _something_  to put an end to the fiasco. And that someone was Sam Evans. Simple, regular, not-too-bright but not-too-stupid Sam Evans. He didn't even need a superhero costume.

All he needed was the perfect song.

And a haircut. He needed a haircut. Really bad.

 


	3. Down Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, frowning, strummed a few chords on his guitar. It needed tuning. As he adjusted the strings, he looked around Kurt's room with a sinking feeling. He was making a mess of it—literally and metaphorically. The clock was ticking and Sam was beginning to despair of finding the perfect Broadway proposal song. He'd been crazy to think he could. He didn't know enoughabout Broadway. It wasn't his style. And to tell the truth, he wasn't sure how to pick a proposal song that would please Blaine without coercing Kurt.
> 
> And coercing Kurt into marriage was the last thing Sam wanted to do.

_I heared how you was kickin' up some capers_   
_When I was off in Kansas City, Mo._   
_I heard some things you couldn't print in papers_   
_From fellers who been talkin' like they know!_

Sam, frowning, strummed a few chords on his guitar. It needed tuning. As he adjusted the strings, he looked around Kurt's room with a sinking feeling. He was making a mess of it—literally and metaphorically. The clock was ticking and Sam was beginning to despair of finding the perfect Broadway proposal song. He'd been crazy to think he could. He didn't know enough _about_  Broadway. It wasn't his style. And to tell the truth, he wasn't sure how to pick a proposal song that would please Blaine without coercing Kurt.

And coercing Kurt into marriage was the last thing Sam wanted to do.

But . . . he had to keep his word to his best friend, right? Because Blaine  _needed_  him. He'd needed Sam and Tina and all the rest of the New Directions to hold him together all year long. And they'd humored him, because . . . well, Blaine could be a really fun, charming guy—until he wasn't. No one liked Blaine when he was in one of his pets.

So, Sam had to find a song. And the best place to find a song that Kurt would love was right here, in Kurt's room. Still, it felt  _wrong_  to be sitting in Kurt's bedroom, his beloved sheet music scattered across the floor. Sam hadn't  _quite_  crossed the line by coming down here—at least, he didn't think so. Carole and Burt had given him permission to practice in the basement while Kurt was gone—really, the acoustics were better down here. But now that Kurt was home . . .

Sam strummed another chord, then nodded. That was better.

The worst thing he had done that night, however, was open Kurt's computer. He'd just wanted to go through the music folder. Unfortunately, the first thing Sam saw was Kurt's desktop wallpaper: a photograph of Kurt and a blond man in a horse-drawn carriage in Central Park.

They looked happy together.

Maybe that's why all the songs Sam found came out wrong. First, he'd gone for the obvious:  _Les Miserables_. Hadn't that Anne Hathaway chick just won an award for singing that in some movie? And she kind of looked like Kurt. So Sam had found the sheet music, tried the song, and choked up as he sung the last line: " _Now life has killed the dream I dreamed_."

No, he decided, that one wasn't going to work.

Then he found  _Jane Eyre: The Musical_.  _Jane Eyre_  was supposed to be a romantic story, right? And—Sam frowned—it had something to do with redemption. That's what Mrs. Harrison had said, anyway. The song titles looked promising—especially since (in Sam's opinion), Blaine had a lot to make up for. He decided to listen to one called "As Good as You."

" _Love is like a virus we're infected with. You're so naive.  
_ _Wouldn't it be wonderful if life were just as you perceive.  
_ _Women are inhuman, worthless—_ "

Sam hit pause.

"Well, that one's out, isn't it, Lady Tubs?"

The cat hissed.

"You're right, it's too bitter. And who wants to get married because of a virus?"

The Mayan apocalypse was another matter entirely . . .

Lady Tubbington watched him through narrowed eyes. Why  _did_  that cat follow him around the house, only to spit and claw and glare at him? Sam guessed Brittany had been right to ream him out for keeping a cat in his locker. He was never going to be forgiven for that one. Not by  _either_ of the women in his life.

"So, what's next?" Sam sighed, scrolling through Kurt's iTunes library. " _Notre Dame de Paris_? Kurt likes French, right?"

Sam wasn't at all sure that Blaine could sing in French, but it was worth a try. He picked a song at random, something called " _D_ _échiré_ _."_ It sounded promising—really passionate—except that Sam kept hearing the word  _femme._  However _,_   _femme_  and  _homme_ were two words that Sam did know, and they sort of rhymed. Easy substitution.

"So, is this the one?" Sam felt hopeful. It had been a long day and Sam was ready to pick something and go to bed.

But the cat hissed again.

"No? What's wrong with it?"

Lady Tubbington paced back and forth on the sheet music, her tail swishing impatiently. Sam decided to take a page out of Brittany's book and talk to Lady Tubs as if she could understand him.

"Do you think I need to check it out some more?"

Lady Tubs sat down and looked at Sam steadily.

"Okay. You're kinda creeping me out . . ." Sam turned towards the computer and did a search, turning up a translation. As Sam read the English lyrics, his eyes grew wider:

_"Torn apart, I am a man divided._   
_Torn apart, I want two women's love._   
_Two women want my love; I'm just glad I have love enough for two._

_"One for the day, the other for the night._  
 _One just for now, the other all my life._  
 _One for always, until the end of time._  
 _The other soon will find, my love won't stay—_ "

Sam closed the browser window. Even—no, especially—with a lyric switch, that song hit way too close to home. It also sounded a lot better in French.

"Thank you, Lady T. You just saved my ass."

If he had had a kitty treat, Sam would have given it to the she-devil on the spot. Even though she'd probably take his fingers off right along with it. He decided to follow Lady Tubbington's advice more often.

Britt was probably right. Cats really did have a sixth sense.

* * *

The clock was striking midnight when Kurt slipped in the front door.

A night away from home had been exactly what he'd needed: just him, Mercedes, and a marathon viewing of  _Soap_. Sometimes Kurt felt that he—like Benson—was the only sane man in the midst of a melodrama.  _Except_ , Kurt reminded himself,  _that wouldn't be fair to melodrama_. No, Kurt's life was neither a melodrama nor a soap opera. It was just a mess, and he—Kurt—was not above that mess. He was a part of it.

Twelve chimes, yes. "Cinderella" had come home, and Kurt was not looking forward to spending the next few days sweeping up the ashes. For a few blissful hours—after Mercedes had dished about Mike's discovery and Blaine's delusions—Kurt had pushed aside the reality of what he was facing: a sick father, an unstable ex-boyfriend, a roommate who was  _spying_  on him, and—

Kurt froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob to the basement.

_What was that_? _Music_?

There was someone in his room.

For one horrifying moment, he thought it was Blaine—that somehow, Blaine had snuck in and was waiting for him in his bedroom. Kurt shuddered. Burt and Carole and Sam wouldn't even be able to hear him scream. They slept upstairs.

Then, Kurt heard the distinctive sound of a guitar.

_Sam_.

Sam, Blaine's co-conspirator. Sam, who'd swept in and driven Burt and Carole home from the hospital, even though everyone had agreed that that was  _Kurt_ 's job. Sam, whom Kurt had helped when he was down—and who was now not only living in the Hummel home, but was also taking over Kurt's last refuge. Sexy-superhero-Sam, who was probably running some kind of stealth operation against his almost-brother (if only he weren't so very  _gay_ ).

Kurt could feel his chest constrict as he reached for the doorknob and started down the stairs. Sure enough, the blond boy wonder was curled up against Kurt's bed. All of Kurt's sheet music was scattered on the floor—well, no, not scattered, piled. But still—that was  _so_  unacceptable.

Worse, Kurt's laptop was open on the floor in front of Sam, who continued to pick out a tune on a guitar and hum to himself. Kurt gritted his teeth and cleared his throat. Nothing. He cleared his throat again, then went on the attack:

"Get lost on the way upstairs, Sam? I can show you the way back to  _your_  room."

The music stopped, but Sam kept his eyes downcast.

Kurt's voice hardened. "What are you doing in my room, Sam?"

Sam opened his mouth once or twice, but no sound came out. Kurt walked to the bottom of the stairs, then caught his peer's eyes.

They were damp with tears. Kurt stepped back. He hadn't expected that.

"Sam?" He tried again, coming closer. "What are you doing in here?"

Again, Sam was silent. Kurt sighed and sat on the floor next to the young man whom he'd once considered a blond Adonis. Where had that boy gone? Instead of a fresh-faced Justin Bieber look-alike, Kurt found himself staring at ratty, greasy-haired bum.

A ratty, greasy-haired bum who had taken over his room, riffled through his stuff, and gone into his computer, which should be  _sacred_. What if he'd had porn on there? Or . . . if he'd left his diary open?

Kurt shuddered.

"I think," he said, "We need to have a serious talk. About boundaries. What they are, and how not to cross them. Because you're crossing way too many lately."

Sam nodded. Kurt was taken aback when he saw that Sam's eyes were bloodshot, as if he'd been crying for quite some time. In fact, his eyes still seemed a bit—

Kurt sighed.

"Here, Sam. Take this." Kurt handed Sam the handkerchief that Adam had lent him, then surveyed the destruction around him. Sam wiped the last of the tears from his eyes.

"I've fucked up, Kurt."

"I'll say."

"No, really, I've fucked up. And . . . I'm fucked."

Kurt let out a derisive snort, but when Sam looked back down at the floor, he softened.

"What are you doing in my room tonight, Sam? Why are you going through my stuff? My computer? Why would you  _do_  that?"

Sam picked a few more notes on his guitar . . . just a short phrase, but a familiar one. Kurt couldn't quite place it.

"I was looking for a love song."

Again, Kurt felt a tightening in his stomach. "A what?"

"A love song. A Broadway love song."

"Oh." Kurt's heart started to pound. "Did you find one?"

"Yes," Sam whispered. "But not . . . the right kind. Not the kind I was supposed to find."

Kurt didn't want to know what kind of love song Sam was  _supposed_  to find. He could only suppose it had something to do with Blaine's crackpot engagement scheme. And Kurt didn't want to hear anything more about that, not tonight. Time to deflect.

"What did you find?"

"Something for me. I've been practicing for hours—but I can't sing the first part. I'll have to find someone, maybe Marley. She probably won't laugh. Wanna hear?"

Kurt nodded and Sam began to play. He couldn't mask his shock when he recognized "Heart an' Hand" from  _Floyd Collins_. He knew all the words, of course, and so he began to sing the first part of the song:

"When _times is hard to endure_  
 _And the world feels a wilderness_  
 _The times is for making a family_  
 _Tis a wintery wind to be sure_  
 _And when it won't quit blowing  
_ _The times is fer goin' home . . ."_

Sam looked up in surprise, screwing up his instrumental.

"Don't stop, Sam." The blond started playing again, taking the man's part for his own:

" _Ain't much bacon in the pan_  
 _Or coffee in the pot._  
 _Runnin' real low on firewood,_  
 _But we sure as hell have us some family._  
 _Craziest bunch of fools was ever begot,_  
 _But thar ain't no figurin' what the Lord plans,_  
 _An' I don't want no other man's home._ "

Finally, Kurt and Sam joined in harmony:

" _An' as one sweet soul to another,_  
 _A fam'ly tries to sing lullabies to each other._  
 _Hush, my darlin';_  
 _Hush-a-bye, angel._  
 _I'm aside you heart an' hand._  
 _Right aside you I will stand;_  
 _I will stand_  
 _heart an' hand._ "

The pair sat in silence for several moments. Finally, Sam spoke:

"Looks like we finally got our duet, Kurt." He was tearing up again. Kurt looked away as his housemate made use of Adam's handkerchief.

"You always did want to bring a more country sound to Glee Club," Kurt murmured.

"This wasn't  _supposed_  to be for Glee Club. This wasn't even supposed to be for  _me._ " Sam bit his lower lip. "I didn't do too good tonight, Kurt. I broke your trust, I came down here to do someone a favor—and yet, everything I tried was wrong."

"Sam, you can't just—pick love songs—for other people."

Sam sighed. "I guess that's why I ended up with one . . . about my family."

Suddenly, Kurt felt guilty. Even with Sam living in the Hummel-Hudson house, Kurt tended to forget that Sam's parents and siblings was so far away. He hadn't even asked after them.

"How are they, anyway?" he ventured.

"Dad's . . . working again. In a coal mine."

"Oh."

"Yeah.  _Floyd Collins_  was kinda a . . . kick in the stomach. I mean, what if Dad just . . . falls down a hole . . . and never comes back up? What'll happen to my brother and sister then?"

Kurt quashed an impulse to point out that Collins had died while spelunking, not mining. This wasn't the time to go into one of his pedantic phases.

"And all this time," Sam whispered, "I've been living here, safe, in a good school, eating well, and living a normal life. Why can't Stevie and Stacey have what I have? What's so special about me?"

Kurt didn't have an answer. He just watched as Sam loosened the strings on his guitar and carefully put it back in its case.  _Sam loved that guitar . . ._

"You're right, Kurt. I shouldn't have come down here. When you're gone—I mean, in New York—Burt lets me practice in here. Everything sounds better in this room. But you're home, and I didn't come down just to practice."

"You went through my stuff."

Sam nodded.

"You opened my computer."

Sam nodded again, even more miserably. A silence stretched between them.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"Is that—Adam—on your wallpaper?"

"Yes."

"You look happy together."

"We  _are_  happy together."

Sam fingered the handkerchief. "This is his, too. The initials are right in the corner. A.C."

Kurt nodded and told Sam that Adam had given it to him just before he'd left to visit his father, in the hopes that he wouldn't need it.

"I—I really appreciate you lending it to me. I'll wash it and give it back tomorrow, OK?"

Kurt hugged his knees to his chest.

"Can I—please—borrow a few of these songs? Just for a day or two?"

Kurt stared straight ahead for a few beats.

"I know what they're for, Sam. I don't like it. And I don't like that you're helping Blaine do this to me—whatever 'this' turns out to be."

Sam, standing, towered over Kurt, yet he felt about two inches high. He felt trapped—wrong—and defenseless. He could only plead his case.

"What would  _you_  do, Kurt? What would you do if you'd someone leaning on you all year, begging you for help? What would you do if you knew helping was wrong, but you  _promised_  before you knew better? What would  _you_ do if you'd been watching your friend go off the deep end for a year—and  _no one_ , no matter how hard they try, can seem to pull him back again?"

"I wouldn't use my almighty driver's license to give said  _friend_  a chance to force himself where he's not welcome."

"What?" Sam's eyes widened.

" _I_  was supposed to drive Dad home today."

"But Blaine said—"

Kurt raised his hand. He didn't want to hear any more about Blaine. Not tonight.

"Take the music, Sam. Just make sure that—if you're picking a love song for someone else—you pick one that is truthful.  _Even if it hurts_."

Sam nodded and picked up several sheafs of music.

"Thank you. I'm sorry."

"Goodnight, Sam."

"But—the mess. You like your room neat."

Kurt threw himself onto his bed. "I also like to sleep. Go away. I'll pick up in the morning."

Kurt could hear the clock strike one as Sam slipped out of the room. Not even bothering to undress or turn out the light, he closed his eyes. So many thoughts. So many problems. So much . . . confusion. Who  _could_  he trust?

At least Burt and Carole were on his side.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep, Kurt could have sworn he felt something jump onto the bed, curl up next to him, and start to purr.  _It must be a dream_ , he told himself.  _But at least it's a pleasant one._

* * *

The first thing Sam found when he'd come back to his room was a message from Blaine: "Have you got a song yet?" When Sam texted back that he was still working on it, Blaine responded with impatience. There were only so many days before Kurt would be getting on a plane and flying back to New York City.

Back to the other man.

Sam was still clutching Adam's handkerchief. A handkerchief and a picture: such little things, really, but they made Kurt's new boyfriend  _real_. That was all it took. A bit of monogrammed fabric—and a photograph of the most cliched New York date imaginable. Yet, somehow, those two images stuck in Sam's brain. Kurt's smiling face, and the tall, handsome stranger who had given Kurt a shoulder to cry on—and in the absence of that, a scrap of linen.

It wasn't much, but it ran so much deeper than yet another love song.

Sam's phone chimed again.

**Blaine:** "Did you know that Kurt's been cheating on me?"

**Blaine:**  "Mike knew."

**Blaine:**  "I can't get over that. I can't believe he did it."

Sam wanted to throw something, but he couldn't afford to replace his phone.

**Sam:** "u cheated on him 2."

**Blaine:**  "Totally an accident and I've more than made up for it."

**Sam:**  "k. if you say so. i want 2 sleep now. i hv ben looking for music 4 u all nite."

**Blaine:**  "Well, when you find a song, make sure it's clear that I'm not willing to share. From now on, Kurt is with me—or not. There can be nothing in-between."

**Sam:**  "wd u shut up pls. its after 1."

**Blaine** : "Sure. Thanks, Sam, I appreciate your help. Sweet dreams."

Sam's hand hovered over his phone for a moment. Usually, he'd say goodnight back—but he didn't want to, not tonight. Instead, he messaged Joe Hart: "need 2 call emergncy mtng of God Squad. tmrow after Church in teh park. PLEASE."

After hitting send, Sam silenced his phone, turned out the lights, and tried to will himself to sleep. It didn't work.

He tossed and turned all night.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Glee, its universe, and its characters do not belong to me.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is inspired by the crack klaine proposals meme and the title of the final episode of the season. Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.
> 
> OH, AND: This is my second foray into the Glee fandom. I hope you enjoy it.


End file.
